


change my state with kings

by Patrocool (all_the_homo)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Crying, Hamilton Gift Exchange Summer 2k17, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Injuries, Non-Graphic Violence, References to Shakespeare, Shakespearean Sonnets, Sonnet 29, Sonnets, im kind of anxious about this one, so i hope its good???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 03:40:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11267193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/all_the_homo/pseuds/Patrocool
Summary: When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,I all alone beweep my outcast state,And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,And look upon myself and curse my fate,Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,With what I most enjoy contented least;Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,Haply I think on thee, and then my state,(Like to the lark at break of day arisingFrom sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;For thy sweet love remembered such wealth bringsThat then I scorn to change my state with kings.~ * ~ * ~John is not okay. In fact, he's the opposite of okay.





	change my state with kings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirael](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirael/gifts).



> i got the prompt "smthn angsty" and that was it, so. i hope you like it?
> 
> also: i really love shakespeare's sonnets. kudos to you if you can find the dear even hansen reference.
> 
> any of you patchwork quilt fans, waiting for an update: !!!! i will hopefully post the next part soon (if i havent already by the time this is posted).

_When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,_   
_I all alone beweep my outcast state,_

 

John was shaking. He had never felt more alone in his life. Wandering the streets like some poor beggar, with nothing but a backpack of his sketchbooks, some books, about twenty bucks and a change of clothes on his back.

He didn’t know what he was doing, it all felt unreal. He felt so numb and empty, and he was scared. Terrified even. He was an outcast from his own home, his own family. Where do you go from there?

Is there anywhere you can go?

 

_And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,_   
_And look upon myself and curse my fate,_

 

If there was a God above, John supposed He must really hate him. There was no way his luck was just this awful, was there?

Of course there was. If God was so loving and merciful as the bible said, He wouldn’t have allowed this to happen. John wanted to scream, to cry, to curse His rotten name. But he couldn’t, he was tired, and he felt heavy and oh-so fucking empty. His stomach felt like lead, his throat tight and constricted, his brain silent for a quiet mantra of, “Walk, just walk, keep going, you have to get away, just walk.”

He could still hear his sister crying, his father yelling, could still see his brother’s pale face, and the way Henry Laurens’ hand froze in the air. He could still smell the alcohol, and the metallic tang of blood. He could taste it too. He could still feel the sting on his cheek, and the tears in his eyes.

He could still feel the gaping hole in his heart.

Then, he walked out. Grabbed the backpack he had packed for his sleepover at Hercules’ that he had just arrived home from, and left.

Walked away from the only life, the only family he had ever known, and just left it all behind. Didn’t look back once, not even when his sister screamed his name, and the door had slammed shut.

It was all over. John couldn’t take that back, he could never go home, not while his father was there. He was seventeen years old, and homeless.

 

_Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,_   
_Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,_

 

Maybe if John had been better, if he liked girls, if he had liked law instead of art. Maybe if he was the perfect son he was supposed to be. Maybe then his father would’ve loved him, would’ve been proud to call him his son. Maybe, just maybe, it would’ve been okay.

But, unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

He was an artist, he loved making art. He used acrylics, watercolors, pen, markers, ink, whatever he could get his hands on. He had painted on his walls, his notebooks, his friends. He had drawn turtles, flowers, people. Anything he could see or imagine. He loved it, it helped him calm when everything became too much. It helped him put everything into perspective, but it wasn’t what his father wanted in a son.

The fact that his father found a picture of him kissing Alex on his phone during a random phone check didn’t help.

John’s chest seized as he remembered the look of disgust and shock that had been on his father’s face, the way he felt so tiny and stuck, like a bug in honey, watching as the swatter came down on top of it.

His throat felt dry and rough, and impossibly tight as he choked out another sob. He stumbled, pressing his knuckles against his mouth, biting down.

He could taste the sharp tang of blood on his tongue.

Maybe’s couldn’t help him. He couldn’t wish and pretend until it all went away, there was no going back from this.

 

_Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,_   
_With what I most enjoy contented least;_

 

John kept walking, feeling like a stranger as he passed by a park. Kids laughing and screaming as they ran around, having fun. He used to love watching kids play, he used to take his siblings to that park every weekend. They would play tag, and grounders, and lava monster. They would spend hours smiling until their cheeks hurt, running until their knees gave out, until the sun was setting. Then, John would gather them up and they would go home, giggling and talking, and teasing.

What used to make his heart burst with joy, now left a bitter taste in his mouth and a hole in his chest. He wanted to go back to that time, when everything was okay and fun, and picture perfect.

John kept walking, and didn’t look back.

 

_Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,_   
_Haply I think on thee, and then my state,_

 

Eventually, John’s cold, aching feet turned onto a familiar road. Mercer Street. He looked up, and saw rows of quiet brownstones, the streetlights flickering on. He could smell the scent of the bakery on the end of the block. He saw kids drawing with chalk on the sidewalk, families welcoming family members home. He saw an old couple sitting on their stoop, smiling idly. He saw warm lights from windows.

He saw Alexander talking to his neighbor before catching sight of John walking towards him. He saw Alex’s face purse into a confused expression, and then his eyes widened as he noticed the state John was in.

Then, Alex was running towards him, and then, he had his arms full of his favorite person in the world, and then he felt small, callused hands gently pushing him down onto the stoop of his building, and then there were dark, deep brown eyes scanning over his face, and fingers skimming over his injuries.

 

_(Like to the lark at break of day arising_   
_From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;_

 

“Mi vida, John, what happened?” Alex asked, so soft and beautiful, but John could hear the anger underlining the words, the fire in Alex’s eyes, the way his fingers twitched like he longed to punch something. “John?”

How was he supposed to answer that? Was he just supposed to say “yeah, about that, my dad found a photo of us kissing so he beat the shit out of me in front of my siblings, and I booked it ‘cause I couldn’t stand being around him, and now I’m homeless and bleeding”? Or just brush it off and pretend everything was fine?

Before he could answer, Alex seemed to read something in his face. He pursed his lip and gently kissed his forehead. “Let’s get you inside and cleaned up, si?”

John nodded numbly, and Alex smiled. “Alright, baby, let’s get up.”

 

_For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings_   
_That then I scorn to change my state with kings._

 

Warmth bloomed in his chest, and he couldn’t help but laugh weakly, big, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. Alexander wiped them away, quiet and worried. His darling Alexander, the one who was always there, no matter what.

His life and love.

“I love you,” John whispered. He had never said it before, and it felt so good to just blurt it out, to tell Alex.

The other boy’s cheeks burned red, and he gently pulled John into a kiss. “I love you too. Now get the fuck inside, I don’t want blood on the steps.”

John giggled weakly, and got to his feet, and the two went inside the little brownstone on Mercer Street, backs to the setting sun.

He would never be perfect in his father’s eyes, but Alex loved him, and he wouldn’t trade that for anything.

**Author's Note:**

> comments make my day. please tell me what you think!!!


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